Occupation Irritation
by DeadKenny
Summary: Cartman struggles to find, and keep, a job to buy cheesy poofs. Can he do it? *language* Please read and review. #Finale
1. Probation

Occupation Irritation  
  
By DeadKenny  
  
Chapter One: The Opening  
  
WARNING: Language and Violence, the usual tedious stuff.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Cartman, Liane, and Sharon belong to Matt Stone, Trey Parker, and all of Comedy Central in general.  
  
In the small Colorado mountain town, known to the local natives as South Park, it was a beautiful day out. The clouds roamed by lazily overhead while closer to earth, the birds chirped their joyful melody. It was a lovely summer day, perfect for all the children in the community, for they had no school. Everyone was happy and enjoying their summer break.  
  
Well, almost everyone.  
  
"Maaammm! I need sah Cheesy Poofs!" The disgruntled voice cried out from the living room of one house in particular. The brunette woman in the kitchen smiled warmly at her teenage son's enthusiasm.   
  
"Coming, hon!"  
  
The middle-aged woman hummed jovially as she opened the cupboard doors, searching for that appetizing bag of her son's favorite snack food... and then she frowned. The cupboards were bare. The food was all gone. Oh, well. Maybe there was some in the refrigerator. She opened the door and peered inside.   
  
Uh oh. She knew that her little poopsikins would not be happy about this.  
  
"We're out, hon."  
  
The reaction was instantaneous. Someone might well have dropped a atomic bomb on her house right then.  
  
"WHAT???!!!!!!!!"  
  
Cartman's roar was so loud that Liane could have sworn that the whole house shook. Her foresight into son's reaction had been right on the money. Poor poor little Eric was pissed.  
  
Eric ran into the kitchen right then, looking ferociously angry, and a little uncertain. "Are yah sure, Mam?"  
  
"I'm sure, sweetie."  
  
"Could you go to the store and buy some mah mam?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Eric, but I'm broke." This was true. Liane had always used her body as her job, earning hundreds of dollars a night from horny men who had been looking for a good fuck. But business had been slow lately, and her financial boundaries had been less then... adequate.  
  
Eric stared at her for a while, feeling uncertain for a few seconds before he reacted. He snickered, and then began to laugh completely, not holding any of his amusement in. "Oh, that was good, mah! Yah almost had me fooled!"  
  
Liane looked serious. "I'm not kidding, hon."  
  
Cartman's laughter ceased, and he looked at her. "You're really not kidding?"  
  
"No, I am really not."  
  
"OH GODDAMNIT!!!"  
  
"Looks like you'll have to get a job if you want some Cheesy Poofs, hon."  
  
She left the room then, leaving her young son to stand there cursing the bitch known as Luck. What the hell was this?! He was out of cheesy poofs?! And worse, he had to get a goddamn job?! What the fuck was this shit?!  
  
Sighing, Eric Theodore Cartman knew he had no choice. He had never wanted a job, but if he wanted food, he would have to buy it himself. The fatass grabbed the morning paper off the kitchen table, and, still muttering profane curses under his breath, took it up to his room.  
  
Once there, he climbed onto his bed, spreading the paper open to the want ads. The classifieds were a surefire way to find a job. SOMEBODY had to be hiring! His eyes scanned each black-inked article, looking for something that began with "Help Wanted". Where the hell was it? Where the hell... AH! Here was one!  
  
Eyes shining eagerly, The young boy read it aloud, completely oblivious to everything but the Job Hunt.  
  
_________________________________________________________  
  
HELP WANTED: Personal Asst. No Exp. Needed. $7   
  
pr hr. Apply at Tom's Rhinoplasty. 14 S. Main St.  
  
South Park, CO. 80247.   
  
_________________________________________________________  
  
Cartman grinned excitedly. This was the PERFECT job for him! Good wages, and no experience necessary?! Kick fuckin ass dude! Best of all, he knew that Stan's mother, Sharon, worked there, and he had watched her enough to know what to do! Dude, this was gonna be so sweet!  
  
Humming happily, the young fatass got off his bed and ran downstairs to tell his mother the exciting news! He was gonna go work with Stan's mother at Tom's Rhinoplasty! Even if Sharon's son was that dick-licking asswipe Stan...Cartman was not about to let that stop him.   
  
He'd have those cheesy poofs in no time! Oh, what a beautiful day it was! Cartman ran out of the house, happy as a clam.   
  
*****  
  
Roughly two minutes later, Sharon was at the front desk, filling out store forms when Cartman burst in, panting but pleased. She looked up at him, surprised. Why was he here? Her answer came 1.2 nanoseconds later.  
  
"I'm hyah for the job!"  
  
Sharon hesitated, looking at the boy, uncertainty flowing through her psyche. She knew Eric enough to know that he was not the most patient person in town, if the world. Did she really want to give him the job?  
  
"Well, do you have experience in dealing with plastic surgery?"  
  
Cartman frowned slightly. "I thought no experience was needed."  
  
Sharon smiled warmly, though she felt like screaming inside. Of course he would have known that. So much for trying to discourage him. Sharon was not at all eager to work with this kid. She knew all about his impatient personality and fits of rage. No one else had applied for the job though. Only Cartman had. Perhaps there was a way to deter him. Maybe she could do something else. Maybe she could...   
  
"Eric, how about a probation period?"  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Well, you work with me for a while, just do your job, with no pay. Then, if you do well, I'll let you keep the job, and you will begin earning your money. It's a honor system."  
  
Eric felt like throwing a tantrum. No pay?! For how long?! But he also knew that if he wanted those cheesy poofs, he would have to play along. For a little while, at least.   
  
"Okay."  
  
NEXT: Does Cartman have what it takes to succeed in the plastic surgery world? Will he pass the probation period? And what about those cheesy poofs? Will Liane get her "business" back on track?  
  
(Cartman looks at the screen, annoyed. "You are really starting to piss me off.")  
  
Find out next time!  
  
(Cartman curses. "Goddamnit, you son of a bitch! Don't you make me wait!)  
  
To Be Continued.  
  
(Cartman looks really pissed at the author now. "FUCK!!!") 


	2. Plastic Surgery Ain't Pretty With Cartma...

Occupation Irritation, Part 2  
  
ANNOUNCER: Last Time On "South Park".  
  
"Maaammm! I need sah Cheesy Poofs!" The disgruntled voice cried out from the living room of one house in particular. The brunette woman in the kitchen smiled warmly at her teenage son's enthusiasm.   
  
"Coming, hon!"  
  
The middle-aged woman hummed jovially as she opened the cupboard doors, searching for that appetizing bag of her son's favorite snack food... and then she frowned. The cupboards were bare. The food was all gone. Oh, well. Maybe there was some in the refrigerator. She opened the door and peered inside.   
  
Uh oh. She knew that her little poopsikins would not be happy about this.  
  
"We're out, hon."  
  
The reaction was instantaneous. Someone might well have dropped a atomic bomb on her house right then.  
  
"WHAT???!!!!!!!!"  
  
"Looks like you'll have to get a job if you want some Cheesy Poofs, hon."  
  
*****  
  
"Eric, how about a probation period?"  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Well, you work with me for a while, just do your job, with no pay. Then, if you do well, I'll let you keep the job, and you will begin earning your money. It's a honor system."  
  
Eric felt like throwing a tantrum. No pay?! For how long?! But he also knew that if he wanted those cheesy poofs, he would have to play along. For a little while, at least.   
  
"Okay."  
  
ANNOUNCER: Will Cartman keep his job and buy another crunchy bag of cheesy poofs? Find out tonight!  
  
ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FAN FIC-EVEN THOSE BASED ON REAL PEOPLE-ARE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL. ALL CELEBRITY VOICES ARE IMPERSONATED... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFIC CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.  
  
AHH, WHAT THE HELL. READ IT ANYWAY.  
  
Sharon Marsh looked down at Eric Cartman, who was dressed in a white doctor's robe, as they prepared to alter a patient's nose via plastic surgery. "Are you ready, Eric? This is the hardest part of the job."  
  
"Yeah, uh, what the hell do I gotta do again?"  
  
The woman sighed. This had been the millionth time that the fatboy had asked that question since he had started. She was beginning to wonder if he had the competency and intelligence to pass his probation period. "Just like I told you, Eric. You've just got to turn on the gas, but not too high. That way, the patient remains calm and pain-free during this surgery."  
  
Cartman looked at the gas tank, which was attached to the patient's face through a gas mask. "You mean like this?" He turned to the gas up to 250 PSI. Sharon nodded approvingly.   
  
Eric looked at the man reclined in the chair, his eyes just fluttering but not yet asleep. "He's not still tranquil. I'll give it more volume." Cartman turned back to the valve handle. Sharon whirled around toward him wildly, her eyes wide.  
  
"Cartman! NO!"  
  
Too late. Cartman had turned the valve to 500 PSI.   
  
Horrified, Sharon barely had time to flinch back before the patient, instead of sleeping comfortably in his chair, leaped up out of it, the gas mask still attached to his face. He yanked it off, and laughed hysterically. Cartman and Sharon dove for cover behind the chair as the man began to bounce all over the room before breaking through the wall, landing on the back parking lot outside. Picking himself up, the man started to run away towards the mountain peaks in the distance.   
  
Wearily, Sharon watched him disappear into the horizon and spun on Cartman, eyes burning with rage. "What the hell happened?! He was supposed to be asleep!"  
  
"Yah, I know. I administered the laughing gas like you said."  
  
Sharon's eyes were dinner plates. "YOU WHAT?!"  
  
"I filled the tanks with laughing gas, like you said tah."  
  
Sharon palmed her face, trying to not lose her temper. "I told you to GET RID of the laughing gas, and fill the gas tank with tranquilizer gas! You have completely screwed it up! Thanks to you, that man is probably half-way to Utah by now!"  
  
"I'm sorrah. Give me another chance."  
  
Sharon pointed toward the door in the waiting room, where several waiting patients were staring at her, wondering what the hell was going on. "No, that was your one and only chance! You will never work in plastic surgery again! Please leave."  
  
Cartman walked out, muttering "Cranky Bitch" as he left.  
  
Sharon heard it, but not very clearly, since Cartman had mumbled it under his breath. "What was that?!"  
  
"I said I have a ranky itch!"  
  
NEXT: Plastic Surgery didn't work. What field of work will Cartman get into now? Perhaps... being a stock boy at J-Mart? Be here next time for the next hilarious chapter of "Occupation Irritation!" 


	3. The Boss And The Fat Brat

Occupation Irritation, Part 3  
  
WARNING: Swearing, mindless humor.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Cartman belongs to Comedy Central. Tom Kraft is my character.  
  
Cartman cursed under his breath as he slammed his bedroom door behind him. Goddamnit. That job at Tom's Rhinoplasty had gone to hell. He had fucked up with the chemicals and Sharon Marsh, the mom of that asshole Stan, had nearly gone through the roof. Was it HIS fault that the guy who was scheduled for plastic surgery had instead gotten the "Daffy Duck on crack" treatment?  
  
He didn't think it was, but, oh, well. Time to try agin.  
  
Muttering profane curses, Eric Cartman opened to the HELP WANTED section of the newspaper again. It wasn't very long before something caught his eye, and he focused on it. The black and white ad seemed, to him, to be another chance, another possibility of getting those goddamned cheesy poofs.   
  
_________________________________________________________  
  
HELP WANTED: Personal Stockboy. Must be used to lifting heavy weights.   
  
Good Benefits. $6.00 pr Hr. Apply at J-Mart. 22 N. Main St. South   
  
Park, CO. 80247  
  
_________________________________________________________  
  
Kickass. Cartman knew that he could do this job with one hand tied behind his "muscular" back. The job called for someone used to lifting heavy items? No problem. He was beefcake, after all. Beefcake!!  
  
Grinning, Cartman left his house and started to walk down the street to J-Mart.  
  
*****  
  
The manager at J-Mart, Tom Kraft, sighed, annoyed, as he thumbed through the long list of applicants. What a bunch of losers. There was the woman who spent the entire interview talking about nothing but getting the job so she could support her lazy cat. There was the guy who spit on him with every word he had said. Tom had even gotten an interview with a young girl who had kept working Roswell and other so-called "conspiracies" into the conversation. Where did all these losers come from?   
  
A few minutes later, Tom got another one.  
  
The fat teenage boy strolled in, and, walking right up to him, asked roughly. "Hey, who do I talk to about employment around hyah?"  
  
Tom was taken aback by the boy's directness, but he didn't show it. Instead, he offered his hand to the strange youth. "You talk to me. I am Mr. Thomas Kraft, the head of the corporation. And you are?"  
  
The youth didn't shake his hand, leaving it hanging in the air. "Cartman. Eric Cartman."  
  
Tom dropped his hand onto his desk, seeing the uselessness of offering a handshake. "Well, Mr. Cartman, I take it that you are interested in joining our family here at J-Mart?"  
  
"You take it goddamn right!"  
  
Tom winced at the brashness of that statement, but again, he didn't let it show. He just smiled calmly. "Well, do you have any work experience in the field of Stocking, and/or unloading the new weekly shipment of clothing?"  
  
Cartman looked at him. "Uh... yeah..."  
  
"Oh, good." Tom reached into his desk, and, opening a drawer, ripped a paper off the pad, and laid it on the surface before Cartman. "Here's an application. Do you need a pen?"  
  
"Yeah, I need a goddamn pen, hippie!"  
  
Tom handed him a black ink pen, and Cartman snatched it from his hand. Jesus. This kid was rude. Tom decided to ignore this, and tried engaging him in conversation while the boy wrote down his references, work history, and personal information.   
  
"So, why do you feel like you'd be good for this job?"  
  
Cartman looked up. "Come again?"  
  
"What qualities would you bring to this corporation?"  
  
Cartman flexed his flabby arms as if they had muscles. "I'd bring my manly biceps to this place, that's what. Beefcake, Beefcake!!"  
  
Tom sucked in a breath. Calm, Tom. Stay calm. This kid was getting annoying, and he was the rudest person that Tom had met yet, not to mention the most deluded. Could he-would he-hire this boy? Suddenly, Tom decided to hire him anyway. Cartman was rude, but he was more qualified then the other jerk-offs that he had met. The manager knew that hiring a obnoxious person like this in a place full of otherwise caring individuals made no sense, but nothing ever seemed to make sense here, so why the hell not?  
  
When Cartman had finished signing the application, Tom took it with a smile, and again offered a handshake. Cartman just stared at him like he was a freak, and in a few seconds, he lowered his hand onto the surface.  
  
"Well, Mr. Cartman, I have several more job seekers to speak with. It'll quite possibly be a few days, but I'll let you know. Thank you for stopping in. Have a nice day."  
  
Cartman was startled. "Wait a minute, I have to WAIT to find out if I have the job or not?"  
  
Tom suddenly feel uneasy. "Well, yes, that's usually how it works." He took a card, and, scribbling something on the back, handed it to the fat kid. "But come back on this date for your job interview."  
  
Cartman stared. "Didn't we just have it?"  
  
"Well, I asked you a couple questions, but it wasn't the full interview. For that, I'll need to see you on the date and time on the card."  
  
Cartman looked at the card. His appointment was set for the following Friday at 3 PM. He walked out, and when, he reached the bedroom of his house, he shut the door quietly before cutting his emotions loose. He expressed his reaction with three simple words, a small epitaph that summed up what he was feeling at the moment.  
  
"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!!!"  
  
NEXT: Cartman At J-Mart. 


	4. The Wacky Interview

Occupation Irritation, Part 4  
  
DISCLAIMER: Cartman... not mine. Tom Kraft... mine. That ought to clear things up.   
  
WARNING: Language. What else would one expect in a Cartman fic?  
  
A/N: This chapter is really short and really stupid. It will be mostly in transcript form.  
  
Tom Kraft, manager of J-Mart in South Park, Colorado, sighed in exasperation as he massaged his forehead with two fingers. This Cartman kid was different from the other people who had applied for the job of stock boy. Not necessarily in a good way. He had had his job interview that morning, and it was... unusual, to say the very least.   
  
In his mind, Tom went over the conversation that they had had.   
  
TOM KRAFT: So, what experience have you had in the field of J-mart?  
  
ERIC CARTMAN: Experience? Do I come across as someone who's ever actually worked a day in his life?  
  
TK: No. *mumbles* But you look like someone who doesn't need food at the moment.  
  
EC: AY!  
  
TK: Moving on. What's your expected pay rate?  
  
EC: $1,000,000 an hour.  
  
TK: Don't you think that's a little much for a starting pay rate?  
  
EC: No, hippie!  
  
TK: Well, I think starting you out at $5.15 an hour is good.  
  
EC: Well, you know what I think?  
  
TK: Wat?  
  
EC: I think that sucks ass!  
  
TK: *trying not to pop a vein in the forehead* Well, young man, despite your opinion of the gross pay, the current rate is the moderate payrate in the country.  
  
EC: Eh?  
  
TK: Never mind. Now, tell me, why should I hire you?  
  
EC: Two reasons. One, I need money to bah sah Cheesy Poofs. Two, if you don't, I will kick you in da nuts!  
  
TK: I... see. Thank you for applying for the job. I'll let you know.  
  
*Cartman leaves*   
  
TK: Thank god he's gone..  
  
EC: *from outside* Do I have to rip your eyes out of your head with my bare hands and shoves them down your throat until you choke, you dirty fucking hippie?!  
  
TK: Jesus Christ!  
  
EC: *from outside* I'm just saying be nice to me is all.  
  
Tom chuckled at the memory of the interview. Yeah, Cartman had given some wild answers, but Tom had a feeling he'd be good for this job. He decided to go ahead and hire the fat young boy as head stock boy. Not just because he felt a boy like Cartman would keep things under control with the other stock boys.  
  
But also because he didn't want to choke to death on his own eyes, a thought that some part of him knew Cartman wouldn't be afraid to actually perform.  
  
To Be Continued.  
  
Coming Soon: Occupation Irritation, Part 5 


	5. Finale

Occupation Irritation, Part 5  
  
A/n: This is the last chapter of the story. Will Cartman get a worthy job and cheesy poofs as well? Does anyone care? Will I get some good reviews for this finale? Probably not to all of the above.   
  
But you never really know.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Tom Kraft is my character. Cartman is Comedy Central's.  
  
WARNING: Language, some possible OOC characters.  
  
(Scene: Back Room at J-Mart. Cartman got the job, and Tom is showing him what his responsibilities are. The place is loaded with hundred of boxes of stock.)  
  
Tom: Okay, Mr. Cartman. Your job is to unload the truck that comes every friday, open all the boxes, and sort them all out. (notions to the unused clothing rack in one corner) You will hang them all up over there. Afterwards, you will make a pile of the empty boxes. Understand?  
  
Cartman: Jesus Christ, dude! I can't do all that! I'll die!  
  
Tom: Just get started on it. You'll be all right. (pats Cartman's shoulder assuringly) I have faith in you.  
  
Cartman: Don't touch me, asshole.  
  
(Tom leaves and Cartman gets to work. The scene slowly dissolves into a shot of Tom entering the storage room, the words "2 HOURS LATER" written in white below him. He sees something and his eyes bulge.)  
  
Tom: CARTMAN WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!  
  
(In the corner, the still filled boxes are all piled up in a single line reaching as high up as the ceiling. Tom's jaw drops.)  
  
Cartman: Did I do good?  
  
Tom: NO! You were supposed to empty them all first!  
  
Cartman: They were stuck.  
  
Tom: Stuck?  
  
Cartman: They were all glued to the bottom of the boxes.  
  
Tom: (trying to not lose it, disbeliveing) All the clothes were glued to the box.  
  
Cartman: Yeah.  
  
Tom: That's it. Get out!  
  
Cartman:What about my paycheck?  
  
Tom: (whips small envelope out of pocket and flings it at him) Here! Now go!  
  
Cartman: (picks up envelope) Sweet. Cheesy Poofs, here Ah come! (waddles out. Tom angrily kicks the pile of boxes, and screams as they collapse, burying and crushing the poor man.)  
  
(Cartman's house. The fatass is sitting on the couch, eating a fresh bag of Cheesy Poofs and watching Terrence and Phillip.)  
  
Cartman: Cheesy Poofs kick ass.  
  
The End. 


End file.
